


Just a quick robbery they said

by SassyGrape



Category: Red Dead Redemption, rdr2 - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Charles is just a very good man, F/M, Longing for Charles 'cause what else can we do, M/M, Poor Baby Kieran, Reader is genderless, Reader-Insert, Robbery, and who we got here - Soft Boy Charles, camp life, everybody hates Micah, friendship with the gang, high honor forever I guess, i'll update the tags as the story goes on, let's just admire this man from afar, not gonna make fake promises here, shootout, sorry I just can't write asshole-reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyGrape/pseuds/SassyGrape
Summary: You've been with the gang for a few months now, comfortable in your place but not too friendly with certain people. Since you camp near Valentine you were ordered to stay low on profile and days grow boring fastly. Hosea notices and wants you to occupy your mind with something else than domino and books.





	1. Domino and Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a simple drabble with the cause to end in major fluff, but somehow it turns out this thing may want to be more than that. We'll just have to see where this leads. If you have some ideas lemme know in the comments, I'll gladly try to wave 'em into the story :)

Playing domino with Hosea was one of your favourite past time activities in camp when there was nothing else to do. The con artist always managed to win, even if you actually had the better dominoes at hand and you eagerly tried to get to know his secret cheating method. Because there just had to be, how else could you explain you constantly losing to him?  
“Are you trying to hypnotize your dominoes, Y/N?” Hosea chuckled at your concentrated expression, his hands folded under his chin. His green eyes glistened while teasing you. He probably knew you thought about how he tricked you every time, though he insisted he didn't. Like you believed that.  


“Probably I should hypnotize you to tell me your domino-secrets”, you shot back, shrugging your shoulders and just laying a fitting domino onto the array, not caring the outcome – both of you knew how this game would end. But still you rather enjoyed playing since it meant conversation with wise, witty Hosea, who always had fun stories to tell.  


“I don't have somethin' like that.” He put a double five on the table.  


“Sure do.” Luckily you got a five-two. You placed it.  


“No matter how often I tell you I don't, you don't believe me”, Hosea said, sighing.  


“Because I'm sure there is.”  


“Well, there's one thing I'm sure about. And that's you're persistent”, the older man almost laughed, putting another domino to your five-two. His fingers were so fast at that. You were just so sure he cheated. How could he always have fitting stones?  


“Thanks.” You thought for a short while, then proceeded to place your double four onto the other end of the array.  


“May I ask you something?”  


“Sure.”  


Your eyes met across the table and you knew something serious was about to follow, it was in Hoseas' eyes, the way his fingers tapped onto the table. Though you had no idea what it could be, there had been no problems in this camp up to now. At least, no real problems like law or Pinkertons turning up. Of course, the usual ruckus caused by Micah and Bill or drunk Karen – but the group was used to that. So what was the matter?  


“You seem a bit absent lately. I haven't seen you go out of camp for a while, except for fishing. How's that?”, Hosea asked, leaning a tad closer to you, his voice thick with concern and open sorrow.  


“Nothin' much to do, I guess... no robberies, having to stay low on profile.” Sighing you gestured at the table, littered with dominoes. “Your turn, Hosea.”  


Truth be told, you weren't really bored – you spent your time reading books of all sorts; mostly medical issues since that was what you were interested in right now, some crime novels and you were sure you had one or two chapbooks in that stack of books you had at your space. The rest of the day you rummaged through camp, helping Pearson skin and cook animals, sometimes sneaking herbs into the stew, every now and then you helped the girls wash the clothes or just kept the place in general clean. There was always work to be done – still you missed robbing stage coaches with the men. It was thrilling and well paid. Or raiding trains. Now that was always fun.  


“I think I heard Charles talking 'bout some robbery he plans to do.”  


“That's good for him.” 

You would never so much as force yourself into somebodys robbery, raid or planned theft. If they wanted you to join them, they'd ask. Always did, always would. Not only was it about the planning of these events – everybody participating expected a share. And if you didn't want to share, you did things on your own. Or, in some other cases, if one knew they worked best alone. Especially with Charles – he never seemed to enjoy too much company – be it in camp or on robberies –, more of a lone wolf he executed whatever he wanted to do with perfectionism. As much as you knew, he never got caught doing illegal stuff while being with the gang. 

Maybe it was that trait of him, the quiet and ominous side, never participating in the drinking games, rather staying away from parties and just generally being the silently judging type that drew your attention that often to him. To your immense annoyance that happened with increasing frequency, with apparently nothing you could do to stop it.  


Your thoughts wandered off to how much you had to restrain yourself every time a seat at Charles' side to just sit down there, soaking up his reassuring strong presence. To take deep sniffs of his earthly, musky smell. You were a mess. And it all had just started with a single question from Charles after you had cut your finger, sharpening your knife. He had noticed your pained expression and the blood dripping from your hand; and had grabbed something out of his pocket. “Y/N, may I patch you up?” That question, paired with sincere helpfulness had made your heart jump and then melt a bit. The beginning of the end, when it came to your usual behaviour, unaffected by opinions of others of you. Since that day you started to care about how people – especially Charles – perceived you. It was exhausting, really.  


The following annoyed huff dragged you back to the domino game with Hosea, and the just perceived noise told you enough about where you stood right now. With more force than necessary Hosea put his next domino down, blocking the game for you at that side of to array. You caught his intensely knowing stare.  


“Y/N, why don't you go over and ask to join him? A little company wouldn't hurt him.”  


“Well, we ain't finished with domino yet”, you stated, checking your stones. Unfortunately, they proved you wrong. You, in fact, were finished because you had no fitting domino left to lay down.  


“Oh, I think we are”, Hosea laughed fatherly, his eyes squinting against the setting light of the evening sun. He laid down a three-zero on the other end of the array, watching you carefully.  


“How in the fuck do you know which dominoes I got? Tell me your secret, Hosea!” You threw your remaining stones theatrically onto the table, and your hands in the air afterwards. “Tis' impossible!”  


“Told ya I don't cheat”, he smirked, collecting the stones and putting them in their sachet. “Now off you go, some distraction's gonna lighten your mood.”

Wandering about camp to avoid talking to Charles, you passed by the current prisoner. Not that the gang would capture people all the time to tie them on trees and let them suffer starvation for the heck of it – that man was an O'Driscoll, a man belonging to Dutchs' arch enemy, Colm O'Driscoll. You had been taking part in raiding Colms' latest camp, high up in the Grizzlies, shot some of his men but apart from that, you hadn't had any contact to that person. You knew that this villainous cockroach had killed Dutchs' former love – wife even?, you wondered – brutally, so now your leader of course was more than eager to let that man pay dearly.  


To be honest, you pitied that prisoner, not able to walk around, tied and definitely in a bad condition. You thought his name was something like Keenan or the likes. Quite sure Dutch wouldn't be too pleased about what you intended to do, you got closer to the prisoner, cautiously glancing around and softly biting your lower lip – something you always did when either you were anticipating something or were just nervous in general.  
The man in front of you was painfully thin, his once white shirt dirty and ragged. He smelt of different distasteful things you'd rather not name, but you knew it was a humiliating mixture of urine, feces of all sorts, old and fresh sweat and probably even vomit. Who knew? The stench tickled in your nose, causing you to keep your distance. No need to provoke nausea.  


As the man didn't react to your presence, you dared leaning in, instant regret following.  


“Hey”, you said, wary about your surrounding. No, Dutch wouldn't be pleased by that at all. “Hey, you.”  


His head snapped up, tired eyes flickered open, trying to find the one talking to him. He was completely and utterly malnourished and almost lethally dehydrated. In that state this man would be of no help at all. Why did any of the leading gang members think this was an good idea on how to deal with captives?  


“Hey, you awake?”, you asked, more confident now. What could anybody do to you for talking to this tied up corpse, really?  


“Mh... wh... who'se th're?” His voice was rasp, breaking. You were sure his breath smelled like rotting rats in a pile of pig shit, but you weren't eager to prove that assumption true.  


“When was the last time they gave ya water?” You studied his face, pale, dirty skin, pimples covered his cheeks, his chapped lip was reddened by a ghastly rash. The bags underneath his eyes weren't even dark anymore, they were almost black. All over his skin was a layer of grease. His beard looked terrible, wild and not taken care of. You spotted many a gray hair in this mess of a face, more wrinkles than you'd expected to see. Damn, how old was that guy? Anything between a very stressed in his mid-twentyies to mildly inconveinienced guy in his mid-thirties was possible. You took an educated guess and decided he'd be thirty.  


“D... dun-dunno.” He coughed, letting out a soft, pained groan.  


“What's your name?”  


“Pl-please...water...”  


You sighed deeply. There was no way not imagining yourself being caught in such a distressful situation – anybody of you could get captured by either the O'Driscolls' or Pinkertons or the police. And you'd get treated just like that prisoner here. Would you want that for yourself? Rather not, you decided. No, definitely you wouldn't want to be tied to a tree, not being able to pee in private or wash your face, being denied food and warm clothes.  
This is kinda inhuman, you concluded, a spark of doubt sprazzling through your mind, jumping to the last grave decision Dutch had made.  
That train robbery. You hadn't been all too convinced about how clever that was yourself, together with Hosea you had pleaded to not to that. But, Dutch being Dutch, he'd done it anyway. And, in your opinion, worsened the situation, even though it might not seem like that right now.  


Like Hosea you knew men like Leviticus Cornwall, rich, powerful men who were not used getting pissed on. Especially getting pissed on by peasants, stinking outlaws which all of you were in his eyes. You had never robbed such an influential man, never in your life, but you'd seen what had happened to people who had done so. Their end had neither been mild nor dignified, like hanging was. No, their fate had been quite gruesome and you feared that would happen to you,too – now that Dutch thought of Cornwall as easy opponent.  


Yes, you started doubting your leader. And you knew this was bad. But you couldn't help it, reason told you to be careful, watch every step and action Dutch started. Hosea did so, too, so much you knew. That probably was the worst part, that even Dutchs' longest partner and friend had started doubting him.  
Without another word you walked away from the O'Driscoll boy, grabbed Micahs' cup – you didn't care if he would get that nasty rash, too – and filled it up with water. You brought the cup back to the poor man and sighed at his sight and at what you were about to do.  


“Hey, man, what's your name?”, you asked again, getting closer, trying not to breath in too much. That smell was to be avoided at all costs.  


“K...Kieran. Kieran Duffy”, he almost breathed out, his voice weak like dying wind.  


“Kieran, drink this. But careful.”  


You held the cup to his dry lips and lifted it a bit, so he could take small sips. Slowly he drank the water, an expression of relief and disbelief on his face – but most of all gratitude. You couldn't help but smile at that.  
When the cup was empty, you retreated back, out of the smell. “Feelin' better, Kieran?”  


“Y-yes... th-th-t-t”  


“You're welcome.” You smirked. “So, how you holdin' up? I mean, except the fact that you... ya know, don't.”  


“Please.. can I have some food? Please?”  


“Unfortunately I don't wanna have my fingers chopped off.”  


Before any of you could deepen this sorry excuse of a conversation, you heard voices in your vicinity, so you left Kieran without another word. Really, nobody needed to see you talk to him – or, Heaven forbid! - giving him some water in order for him to not die.  
You snuck Micahs' cup back to his place, a devious smile tucking on your lips. This is for your foul mouthed talking, you pig, you thought. Hopefully that rash eats off your whole face.


	2. Good horses are good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding with Charles is really something else. Calm and relaxing and you totally don't have sweaty hands. As if you didn't annoy yourself enough, your thoughts start acting up as well.

“Hey Charles.” You strolled towards the tall, sturdy man, knowing you'd never hear the end of it from Hosea if you didn't even ask Charles to come with him. Not doing as Hosea says always backfires, a lesson you'd learned quickly in your early time within the gang. Not in a bad way, though, but Hosea would just tease you and say quirky shit to make you feel just a tad uncomfortable, always excusing when overstepping, though. Usually you didn't really care about that, but it was different with Charles. You rather not have that man think you were too shy to talk to him about a simple robbery. What he might think of you afterwards!  


The man in front of you, currently combing his horse, Taima, turned around but didn't stop his activity. Seeing you, he just slightly furrowed his brows. His gaze wandered to your hand, which you reflexively covered. There was still a small scar on your finger, but his bandage had helped a lot.  


“Y/N?”  


“Hosea said you gon' rob somebody?”, you said, trying to keep a neutral face.  


“Sure.”  


“Hosea also said I should ask you to take me with you.”  


“That so?” Now he stopped his work, fully turning towards you. As always, you were awed by his broad shoulders and how smoothly he moved his huge body. He was more a predator like a cougar or wolf than a human being when it came down to how sneaky and in control of his body he was. “How's your hand?”  


“It's fine, thank you.” As if to prove it, you held up your left hand, showing the pale scar. “Could definitely be worse.”  


“Glad to see.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his gaze wandering to where Hosea usually sat around that time of day. After a few seconds, Charles looked back at you again. “It's nothin' big. Rich banker, living close to Strawberry.”  


“Strawberry?”  


“Yes. Wouldn't want to start a ruckus in Valentine.”  


“Yah, makes sense.”  


“Sure does.”  


You stared at him for a moment. How to go on with this conversation? You had no idea. Would he take you or not? How ominous could it get?  


“You ready to go?”  


Oh, so you'd come with him. Fine. You cleared your throat. “Just... just a minute.”  


“Take your time”, he halfway called after you, since you almost ran back to your place, gathering your things. Your favourite gun, that old facecloth, some canned food and a warm coat. Equipped with that, you stumbled towards your horse, followed by Hoseas' not so silent snickering.  


“Take good care of Y/N!”, the older man called over the place, causing you to almost trip over your feet. How dared he! You shot Hosea an angry look, which made him wave at you, big grin on his face.  


“Of course”, Charles said loud enough for Hosea to hear, then mounted Taima, waiting there for you to stow away your things on your saddle and in your bag and getting on your horse. Troja was an ill tempered beast towards strangers, so the more loving to you. You'd bought him a few years ago from some shady jerk who had mistreated the horse severely. It had taken you a lot of time and patience and apples to even be able to come near him. Once Troja had taken a liking to you, he never left your side.  


Murmuring sweet names into his ear, you mounted him, catching up to Charles. Taima stubbed her nostrils onto Trojas, greeting him softly. The stud huffed nervously and you let out a nervous laugh.  


“Sorry, Taima. Troja's not very fond of any living being”, you smiled and glanced over to Charles, who examined your horse.  


“He good?”  


“Don't worry, he can handle a lot of stress.”  


“Seems like took you a lot of work”, Charles acknowledged, leading the way out of camp. You followed suit.  


“Yes, he did. But I can't say it wasn't worth it.”  


Charles let out a soft chuckle, patting Taimas' neck. You knew they shared a deep bond of trust and you wished Troja and you would manage to get along like that one day.  


You followed Charles, not daring to talk to him. You never had been doing anything with him alone, like that. Whenever there was a robbery, others would take you with them, if you had to work with Charles, it had been in a whole group. This felt strange, different. You'd done some raids with Arthur and Karen and knew their approach, you had even robbed a farm with Javier back in Blackwater – all of them had been great partners in crime. And all of them had been talking to you, glad to have some ordinary conversation aside from Dutchs' plans and more money and depressing thoughts. Though, you had been talking about that, too. You considered them your friends, family even. This point Dutch got right: You all were family by choice, which made you a strong group.  


But Charles didn't seem too keen on talking with you or even Taima, while you just tended to babble like a waterfall to Troja whenever you were riding out. You had to really restrain yourself from doing that now.  
To stay silent, you focussed on the simple things surrounding you. The darkening sky, sprinkled with grey clouds, last rays of orange sunlight coating the tips of the trees in fiery light. The river running shallow through which you were riding, the cold water sparkling like diamons. It was a beautiful scenery and you couldn't help but gasp as a flock of birds flew across the sky, their shadows gliding over the ground.  


“Are you okay, Y/N?”, Charles called back to you, slowing Taima down. His deep voice sounded a bit rasp. Maybe he should drink some water, you thought.  


“Yes, sorry!” Spurring Troja, you caught up to Charles and smiled apologetically. “Just had to admire … everything here. This place's stunning, though it's not the rough west.”  


“Sure is.”  


As you rode on, this time side by side, you turned to face the man to your left. “So, Charles, this rich banker – is his house that badly secured that it's actually worth the ride?”  


“I hope so”, he replied. “Tipster told me that man's virtually deaf and has no idea how to secure his place. Said he's a lot of money in his drawers.”  


“You trust that tipster?”  


“Never sold me trash information.”  


You nodded and hoped this would go just as smooth as it sounded it would go. “We got an emergency plan?”  


“You got some, Y/N?”  


“Uh... run away? Not gettin' shot?”, you grinned. Nobody needed to tell you that sometimes you were an utter idiot; you knew and cherished that.  


“Thought so.”  


“Hey! What's that supposed to mean?”  


“You just don't seem like an emergency-plan person.” His expression was stern. “First, let's scout his property, then we can talk about how we'll do it.”  


“All right, you're the boss.”

As you arrived in Strawberry it was darkest night, the only light came from the moon and the cold stars. To be honest, you were a bit tired, but not tired enough to fuck this up. You hadn't talked for the rest of the way, which had not stopped you from thinking about Charles. Sometimes you really cursed your imagination and how easily your eyes worked in favour of your libido. Like, you really could have just admired nature and the fresh scent of grass and flowers at night – but you didn't. Not really. Instead, your eyes had wandered to Charles' back, examining his shoulders, his hips and them really nice buttocks he had there. Not to start with his thighs, straining and relaxing to lead Taima. Charles was such a strong man, built to … yes, to what exactly, you wondered. Rip out trees, probably. Throw rapists down cliffs. Carry injured deer to take care of them until they could go on with their life. You could imagine Charles doing all that.  


You knew what you were thinking was dangerous and as soon as you noticed, you forced yourself to think about the robbery. Which was directly connected to working with Charles. Not a good train of thought.  
Riding through Strawberry, you wondered how far the Pinkertons would follow you. Probably 'til the end of the world, if Cornwall paid them well enough. These were not happy thoughts, but they were nonetheless necessary. What if somebody knew your faces here? Strawberry was the next big city north from Blackwater, so it was not too unrealistic for some warrants of you to find their way up here.  
You exited Strawberry in the north, then headed west, into the woods. Nightly sounds surrounded you, a owl howling, small animals rustling through the undergrowth, in the distance you could hear a train passing through.  


“Let's leave our horses here.” Charles stopped Taima and tied her to a tree. He then turned to you, watching as you got off Troja, yawning behind your hand. You tied him onto the tree next to Taima, then grabbed your gun and bound your facecloth around your neck. Finally you put on your coat – it always made people wonder, but you could stuff so much loot in there, it'd be a shame to not wear it. Also, the coat had a hood which made your face almost invisible in the shadows. Until now it had always worked for you.  


“Ready?”, you asked him.  


“Always am.” Now that was a husky voice and you felt your hands getting sweaty. Him talking dangerously low, determination in his eyes, night around you – you should be scared but all you felt was excitement building up in your stomach.  
You followed him, ducked through the shrubs towards the property. After a few steps you could make out the outline of a two story house, hidden between pines, spruces and hazel. What a fancy place to life, you thought. I'd appreciate that, too.  


“Now that's what I call a homestead”, you whispered in admiration as the two of you stopped to survey the surrounding. You didn't want to miss some watchman walking around.  


“Told ya he's rich”, Charles smirked.  


“You see anybody?”  


“No. Nobody 'round.”  


“I got an idea”, you said under your breath, crouching closer to Charles, unintentionally taking a good whiff of his scent. You shivered, but not from the cold night air. “You keep an eye on the property and I'll loot the place. If he's deaf he won't hear me. In and out, nobody'll notice we were even here. What'cha say?”  


“Let's see where there are entrances first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I found some inspiring writing prompts, and currently I'm working on one. I guess I'll never even make it to write that one line if I go on like this. I'm so sorry for this mess I enjoy so much.


	3. Small crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't have a problem with stealing things and money. But you sure have a problem if somebody catches you and you have to run. Because, loot is loot and musn't be lost.

Silently you closed the heavy, wooden door behind you, throwing a last glance to Charles, who hid in the shadows, making sure nobody followed you in, or worse, somebody woke up inside. As soon as a light would appear in one of the windows, he'd cause some ruckus, leading the people outside so you could sneak out unseen. That was the plan so far. Good enough for you since you both knew about your skills.  


Whistling under your breath, you took in the luxurious interior of the house. Or was it already a mansion? Who cared. You stood in the fancy kitchen, it was spacey, bright and full of dried herbs and nice, artistic pictures on the walls. Some of them sure were worth a bit. You should've brought a whole carriage. Sneaking to the closest cupboard you opened it and rummaged carefully through its contents. Silverware mostly, no money. But who could say No to some nice cutlery? Sure Miss Grimshaw wouldn't mind some of that. Smirking, you put a handful of that into your huge pocket. You closed the cupboard and went on, ducked, glancing carefully around every corner. The built up tension loosened a bit as you snuck through the pompous living room. There was a thick dark carpet on the floor, silencing your steps. You let out a thankful breath, then started sweeping through the cabinets and cupboards in the room.  


“Fucker's damn rich.” Clicking your tongue, you put three thick money clips into your pocket, followed by a golden watch and two fancy looking brooches.  


Ready to leave the room, you turned to check you'd closed everything you had searched and were satisfied with your work. This guy wouldn't get he'd been robbed – at least not until he needed some of that money.  


Charles would be so surprised. You really couldn't wait to see his face when you showed him all the theft.  


Grinning, you quietly hurried through the other rooms on this floor, finding more cash, a fine pen – that would be for Arthur, he'd be so flustered – and some pretty hairslides, decorated with colourful pearls and shiny stones. The girls would love it.  
Everything valuable disappeared in your coat, which got heavier per minute. This robbery was the best thing in a while and you mustn't forget to thank Charles for that opportunity to finally do something useful for the gang again.  


Slowly you walked up the stairs when suddenly you heard footsteps above your head. Your eyes shot up but there was no light. Suddenly you were very aware of the fact that you were alone, in the dark, in a strangers house with no idea of the exact room settings. You held your breath, a cold shiver tingling down your spine as you didn't move as to not make a sound. Probably somebody just needed to pee and would be in bed soon enough again. You bit your lower lip anxiously, waiting for where the steps were heading.  


Unfortunately your way, towards the stairs.  


There was no sound but the slow, heavy steps coming closer. You gulped down that petrifying fear of getting caught and cautiously backed off, down the stairs, onto the carpet which swallowed every sound. As you hit something with the back of your foot, you stopped. Gritting your teeth you knew you had to turn around to find your way back out. No matter if the person coming from upstairs may see you. If you kept going like this, you'd cause so much noise half of Strawberry would wake up.  
Hastily you turned around and hurried back to the kitchen. Something hit your shoulder and a pained curse escaped your lips.  


“STOP! INTRUDER!”  


“Shit!”, you hissed, now fully running with your heavy coat wobbling around you, the silverware chinking loudly. You threw the door shut behind you and ran into the woods. With a quick glance behind you, you saw somebody following you, probably a man – and not a deaf one, obviously. Lights got turned on in the house and you could make out at least two other people on their way downstairs.  


You wanted to hide in the shadows, but your pursuer had a lamp in his hand, fully equipped to search the shit out of this property at night. You cursed again, ducking down and almost crawling back to where the street was. Once you'd found it, you could run to town and just blend in, hiding your coat somewhere.  
“Where are ya son of a bitch?”, the man behind you shouted, now surely waking up everybody around. 

How could this have happened? And where was Charles? Frantically you rustled through three shrubs, and there you saw your companion. He'd sighted you, too, and waved at you.  


“Charles, there are at least three men out to search for us”, you panted and sat down at his side. He was squatting, watching what was going on.  


“We can't use the horses now”, he said, thinking.  


“But we can't stay here, either.”  


“I know.” He furrowed his brows.  


“How 'bout we hide in the city?”, you suggested. It had always worked for you, blending in was easy – be it acting like somebody interested in buying something or jumping into a barbers' chair – and very effective.  


“Hide in the city?”  


“Yes, y'know, blend in. Hide in the crowd. Act innocent.” You gave him your best mischievous look as he considered this idea. “It always works for me.”  


“I don't see we have any other options.”  


Just then a lamp was raised almost right in front of you, shining bright light to your left side. You hurried back into the shadows to your right and as the man walked further left, Charles and you started to flee to town, jumping over tree trunks, you holding your coat so it wouldn't tell everybody what was going on right away. You panted and puffed – that thing was heavy and though it was cold you started sweating.  


Just as you thought you'd outrun them, you heard loud voices behind you, ordering you to stop and surrender.  


“Can you go faster?”, Charles called over to you, evading a birch.  


“Hardly.” Taking shallow breaths you tried to follow suit, your hands numb from holding your coat convulsively. “That coat is fuckin' heavy.”  


“Almost there, Y/N, hold on.”  


As you reached a small cliff he just jumped down. The city started there, just after the cliff there were three big buildings and behind them more of Strawberry. You made it to town. Almost. You stopped dead and stared at Charles. Then at how high you were standing. Though you didn't fancy the idea of getting caught, breaking your legs wasn't that appealing to you.  


“It's not even seven feet, jump. I have you”, Charles whispered, breathless and with undeniably urge. He stretched out his arms to catch you. Looking behind you, you saw lamps wiggling closer.  


“You better do!”, you hissed, then jumped down. For just one nauseating second you thought you'd break your neck doing this, that he'd never catch you due to how unable you were at jumping down things. Your head felt light – just for so long as your feet touched the ground softly; strong hands were steadying you. Opening your eyes again, Charles eyes locked with yours.  


“You good?”  


The concern. The time he took to check on you. Your heart started to jump against your chest, far too late as to connect it with jumping. Sweaty-palms-alarm.  


“Yes... let's g- wait. Jus' a sec.” You sped behind the next best building. It had what you were searching for. Stairs for personnel, leading to the back door. With one swift movement you took off that heavy coat and your facecloth and pushed it into the darkest corner underneath the stairs. Then you ran back to Charles who already waited. “Now, let's go. Act innocent.”  


You hurried onto the street, which wasn't as lively as you'd hoped. It took some good amount of restrain to not just run down the street. Nobody would recognize you without your coat, nobody ever did.  


Still, as angry voices echoed through the streets, you pulled Charles into a dark alley between two buildings. He followed without asking.  


“Where are they? Search everything!”, the voice demanded furiously. Obviously they wouldn't just give in.  
Charles glanced around the corner, pulling his head back instantly.  


“Is this how you blend in? You hide?”  


“Usually I don't have to-”  


A shadow appeared close to your hideout. And suddenly you realized how shady the two of you would look, waiting here, in a dark alley, without something to do.  


“Quick, kiss me!”, ordered, pulling the man closer. His scent was overwhelming – just like your fear of getting hanged.  


“What?”  


“Just do it. You wanna hang?!”, you hissed, then just crashed your mouth onto his, pressing yourself against him.  


The shadow came closer. Charles felt like a statue, not moving. Why did you have to do all the work on your own? Your lips still on his, you adjusted his almost limp arms around you, leaning against a wall. Just then you allowed yourself to check on your partner. His eyes spoke of shock and disbelief, but luckily enough he tightened the grip around you. You flung your arms around his strong neck, turning yourself halfway so you could see if anybody would check the alleyway.  
The shadow still lingered.  


Sighing you closed your eyes, distress slowly taking over. That person should just leave, or else you'd really start enjoying Charles big hands on your back, his warmth covering you, and most of all his soft but dry lips on yours, his scent sending you into a heat.  


And his lips. How they ever so slowly moved on yours, mirroring your every movement.  


Suddenly he pushed you against the wall, closing every ever so small gap between the two of you, his left hand caressing your cheek and playing with your hair. Goosebumps ran all over your body and this time a sigh of pleasure escaped your wet lips, brushing over Charles' skin. He pulled you closer into the kiss, gently nibbling on your lower lip. His teeth on your skin were too much to bear. You let out a soft groan, something inside you melted and transformed all your guts into a hot knot, vibrating through your whole body.  


Just then you realized what you were doing. Seducing your partner – the one you probably respected most in camp, besides Hosea – while running away. You should be running.  


You threw your head back, breaking the contact with more force than you liked it.  


“Anybody left on the street?”, you managed to ask, voice breathy. You cleared your throat. You couldn't look Charles in the face. He must think you were a poor perverted person.  


But the black haired man nodded, though he seemed surprised and, too, affected by this himself, and turned to check the street and looked back at you.  


“Nobody in sight.”  


“Great. Let's get the coat.”  


You snuck out of the alley, Charles behind you, and hurried to the stash. As you grabbed the coat and your facecloth, you turned around to your partner. He mustered you observingly.  


“You okay?”, you dared asking. Though, you wouldn't really be shocked if he just left there and then. Because, you would do so. Most certainly.  


“I dunno. Are you?”  


“Listen, Charles... I'm sorry we had to do that. But literally nobody checks on people kissing in dark places”, you excused your behaviour. “We got the loot, that's what matters.” You started to go back to the horses, but suddenly a hand held you back. Charles shook his head.  


“If they're still there, they will know your coat, Y/N. I go get the horses.”  


“Okay, I'll wait here.” And burn inside, thinking about that kiss. And your hands. And how warm and firm you are.  
As he went away, you sunk to the cold ground, crouching in the shadows, fiery heat burning in your face. You had kissed Charles. Just like that. Without even asking for permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Soft Boy being surprisingly passionate. I have no idea how that happened and I am not even remotely regretting anything


	4. Truth by night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tired cowboy is just as bad as a badly fed cowboy - same goes for you. And Charles won't have you riding on, chances high you'll just fall off your horse. This calls for a short break to get some well deserved rest. Unfortunately there are things which don't let you sleep.

Riding back was awkward enough, at least for you. Charles seemed just normal to you. He'd brought the horses back, though he had to lead Troja a few feet behind him and Taima because your stud would start snapping at him. You knew that would happen, but you were glad the man didn't care too much about that.  


Now you were heading back to camp, wind tugging on your hair as you rode behind Charles. In your coat the loot chinked with every step Troja did and the sound was unnervingly satisfying. You just wished you could turn back time to just do things differently. You didn't want things to be awkward later and knowing you, they'd become. Nibbling on your lower lip, you thought about the only positive this night had brought. A lot of theft. Money. Not getting caught was definitely worth mentioning, too.  


Well, you sighed to yourself, Hosea has been right. This had been quite a distraction. Especially that episode in that alley. After which, you were sure, you could never talk to Charles again. Not like it hadn't happened. Unfortunately you had enjoyed yourself a lot there and thinking about it now just caused you to long for more.  
While passing the Riggs Station you yawned and stroked Trojas' mane. Ill tempered but so loyal to you. Smiling, you deeply inhaled the scent of your horse. 

“Y/N, are you sleeping?”  


Looking up, you found Charles standing on the crossroad, waiting for you. Again. Blinking, you yawned again. “Almost. I know, it's not far anymore.” And how much you dreaded the thought of riding on. Your thighs hurt, your eyes burnt and you were cold. 

Especially your feet. Warm boots and all didn't help against icy river water which still hadn't dried from riding to Strawberry not even three hours ago.  


“You want to camp here? I don't mind.”  


“Do you not?” Actually, you hadn't planned on saying that out loud. You mind surely was sleep deprived and it showed. You shook your head due to the fact that you couldn't even hold your thoughts in your head. Rest was the only cure for your temporary loose tongue.  


“Why would I?”, Charles wondered, leading you left, into woods.  


Both of you had to be careful for your horses were nervous in this unknown terrain, though Taima did better than Troja, obviously. You found a small clearing, lit by silver moonlight, covered with wild flowers and fragrant herbs. Thankful you took some deep breaths, soothing your mind. Away from the road and not hunted – what more could one want?  


“I think it won't get better than this”, you said while dismounting Troja and tying him onto a tree. Charles nodded in agreement and you noticed how the soft light shimmered in his black hair. Luckily each of you had their own tents with you. Or so you thought.  


“We won't need a fire, I guess.”  


Startled you turned around, taking in a sharp breath. Charles stood right behind you, his folded tent in his arms. He eyed you quizzically, probably waiting for an answer. How could that huge man be so quiet, how could he sneak up on you that easily? 

Furrowing your brows, you managed to shake your head. “No. Don't think so.”  


He nodded again, leaving you to rummage through your things to get your tent, while building up his own.  


As your hands touched all your belongings frantically, a shocking thought formed in your head, becoming quite the truth you feared. You had forgotten your tent. Well, forgotten was the wrong word for that, you had to admit. Deliberately not taken with you – that was what had happened at camp, because you had thought you wouldn't need it at all. After all, it should have been a quick robbery, in and out. Biting your lower lip, you turned to face Charles, who now combed Taimas' mane, whispering soft compliments about how calm and reliable she was. Good girl Taima.  


Oblivious and despicable you.  


You sighed again, trying to gather what was left of your courage. Sooner or later you had to ask Charles that terrible question because he'd notice you not preparing your tent at all.  
Observant and endearing Charles. Always there for his friends.  


The real question here, you decided that moment, was if you actually were friends. Or just comrades. Family by choice? The way Charles perceived you would define how all this would go on from here on. Your mind and reason hoped for Family by choice because it was the right thing to choose, the only thing to choose, while being at it. Your libido sure wanted Charles to want you passionately so you could just continue what you had started in Strawberry. And your heart wanted to run away, already galloping in your tight chest.  


“Charles, I hate to say it, but... I forgot my tent”, you managed to say, your voice not as shaking as you had feared it would sound.  


He turned around very slowly. Too slow for your taste.  


“How can you forget your tent, Y/N?”  


“This is a very good question.” You couldn't stand his glance, biting your lip you looked down. Hand-wringing you sighed. “Can we just... I dunno, ride back to camp?”  


“Nonsense, Y/N. You need to rest. Sleep in my tent and I'll be on watch”, Charles countered calmly.  
Thank God he didn't say we can share his tent, you thought and allowed a small nod.  


“Okay.. but if you feel tired you wake me up, so I'll take watch.”  


“Fine.”

As soon as you curled up in his tent you felt better for yourself. How mature the two of you had managed that situation. Very reasonable. Chaste and absolutely presentable.  
Terrifyingly boring, too. But the right thing to do. You folded your hands between your thighs, trying to keep them warm while you tried to fall asleep or at least find some rest. Your body was unbearably tired – but your mind was wide awake, not leaving you a second of rest. You rolled around in the tent, attempting to find a comfortable position. Nothing would work.  


How long you almost threw your tired body around you noticed when Charles opened the entrance to the tent, cautiously glancing in. His surprise to find you wide awake would have been way funnier if you weren't so damn done.  


“Y/N.” He softly shook his head. “Are you really okay?”  


“No, I guess I'm not.” Honesty was a virtue, wasn't it?  


Entering the tent, Charles almost used up all the left space, his strong body immediately radiating safety and serenity. “What is it, Y/N?”  


“Many things.” Slowly you sat up, crossing your legs.  


“Do you want to tell me?”, he wondered, almost whispering. As if you were sharing secrets. But then again, Charles' voice was almost always low, for if he shouted, it was like a roar of a wild bear. Frightening, bone-chilling.  


“I don't know... it's hard to explain.”  


“Don't worry, you don't have to.”  


You scratched your hand, though it wasn't itching. You let out a deep breath, said nothing, then sighed. Whom else but Hosea could you tell your worries and troubles? Who would listen to you like that old man did? Of course the answer was Charles. Warm, comforting Charles. He wouldn't judge you for being troubled, for doubting. At least you hoped so.  


“I know. But... but I think I should”, you finally mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You rather stared at his scar or his lips. Though, not his lips, that memory was too fresh. His scar, then. When he didn't speak, you gulped. “I have a bad feelin' about this, Charles. Not.. not this. This robbery. This was rewarding and almost smooth.” Licking your dry lips you tried to find the right words – no matter the amount of books you've read in your life, now all your vocabulary seemed lost, somewhere unreachable. “We already lost Davy and Jenny. And it's a wonder Sean's alive. We all know that. But... I think I'm just afraid we'll lose our way. Dutch has met too many bad decisions lately. Takin' in Micah's one of 'em. Robbing Leviticus Cornwall. Fleeing east. I just... I just don't want to lose any of you to this his fantasy, as much as we all want it to happen.”  


“I see.” He crouched closer to you, slowly taking your hand into his.  


“Do you? 'cause I got the feeling nobody else but Hosea does. If we go on fightin' the wrong people, making this kind of enemy... we'll all be dead, rather sooner than later”, you went on, squeezing his hand with yours. “I'm – I can't say goodbye like that to any of you again, especially-”  


“Y/N?”  


“Yes?”  


“Especially?”  


Now your fast tongue had turned against you, once again. You really shouldn't trust your body in such situations. And probably use your brain before opening that mouth of yours. You turned your head, feeling heat rising up your face. Surely it burned a bright red, answering his unspoken question without you saying anything at all.  


“Sorry if I-”  


“Especially you”, you blurted out, instinctively lifting your free hand in front of your lips as if you could hinder the words to reach Charles' ears, as if you could make them disappear. Shocked by this your outburst you stared at the man in front of you, he seemed taken aback, mild confusion painted over his handsome, gentle face.  
You stared at him in silence, waiting for something to happen – knowing, if you opened your mouth again, you'd just say more stupid things along the lines of Forget What I Said and Please Cradle Me To Sleep.  


“Me?” Charles finally found his voice again as he locked eyes with you.  


More than a nod was by no means manageable.  


“You don't want to lose me, Y/N?”  


Biting you lower lip, you softly shook your head, too ashamed to say anything. Emotions weren't really your strong suit and you had avoided them as long as possible – and quite successfully so. So long until now.  
You watched in awe as Charles lifted your seemingly numb hand up to his face, placing a small kiss on your knuckles – causing you to hold your breath. What was he doing? Apart from kissing your hand? What was that? Affection? Gratitude? Pity? Before things would be awkward you needed to tell him what was bothering you all night since you left Strawberry.  


“Charles. Wait a minute”, you asked, voice breathy.  


He looked at you, giving you his full attention.  


“What happened in Strawberry – if you think this was planned: It wasn't. It really wasn't. I just thought we were looking so shady and I.. I don't know why I said what I said”, you explained, trying to ease your mind – but only worsening it. “I didn't mean to...”  


“Shhh, Y/N.” Charles leaned closer to you, his thumb stroking your smaller hand. “Let me mean it now, may I?”  


He left you exactly two seconds to say something like: No, don't.  


But you didn't. Instead you took his other hand in yours, leaning closer to Charles. This time as your lips met, you felt a tender sensation in your stomach, a dizzy light-headedness left you smiling on his lips. Closing your eyes you let the sensation of what was happening wash away over you.  


Ever so softly he nibbled on your lower lip, asking for you to grant him entrance. You let out a blissful sigh, parting your lips, welcoming the feeling of his tongue tentatively playing with yours.  
You let yourself fall into the feeling of this kiss, forgetting the harsh world, just thinking about his strong hands in yours, his warm body close to you, his scent covering you.  
Softly Charles pulled his hand out of yours to put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. For a second you wondered if he could feel your heart beat but you forgot about that the moment he dragged you onto his lap. Gasping you opened your eyes again, just to see Charles look at you, his eyes halfway closed, lips parted, panting.  


“Are you oka-”  


“Shhh, don't talk, Charles”, you whispered onto his lips. “Kiss me.”  


“Just makin' sure you want it”, he breathed into your ear, heating up your stomach again. His hand rested on your lower back, holding you in place.  


“Sure do”, you smirked. “Now, let's do this again.”  
And you did, clinging onto each other for dear life, desperately drinking kisses before sun would rise and end this night. Your hands found his shoulders and his face, you wanted to remember how his skin felt underneath your touch. You never wanted to forget the feeling Charles gave you that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, late night update!  
> I have to admit, I didn't think this would happen so fast, but probably my playlist was full of "I'm so sad all the time" and "Let's get the adult fun goin'."


	5. No rage without cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to camp you and Charles act like nothing happened - for a good reason. Once there, things start to heat up again. Unfortunately in a different matter.

When you got back to camp the next day you were more than well rested. You were wide awake, almost overexcited. That night with Charles – hungry kisses, playfully cuddling, caressing each others faces, murmured praises – had left you with nothing but the want for more and the courage to stand up to Dutch if necessary. At least that's what you had thought on your way back.  


But still, nobody needed to know about that episode of the two of you since neither of you was sure how this would go on. You knew very well that this kind of mission – just with Charles and nobody else – wouldn't come up too often and you really didn't want to make it obvious by just leaving camp together to get a some time alone. You had talked about that, too. You had never really understood why Charles demanded people to be honest with him, until you needed his honesty yourself.  


“Ah, Y/N, Charles. Back again.” Hosea waved at you, looking up from his novel, a warm smile on his lips. “How did it go?”  


“Y/N got caught, had to run and hide”, Charles said, dismounting Taima and feeding her an apple. He didn't even dare to throw you a conspirational glance. Because who knew who was watching? And Hoseas' mind was as sharp as a knife, he never missed a thing, not even the tiniest of gestures.  


“Well, that may be. But the theft's worth it.” Tying Troja onto the bar, you grinned widely. As you knew your horse safe, you didn't wait for anything or anyone – you straight up ran over to Hosea, still wearing your coat. Loud chinking accompanied you. 

“And it's so much! Look, Hosea! New knifes and spoons! A watch!” With gleaming eyes you put everything out of your pockets and spread it on the table in front of your friend.  


“Well, looks like a huge success”, he smiled at you, patting your arm. “See, it wasn't such a bad idea.”  


“The best anybody had in a while”, you sighed, then felt the pen in your pocket. “I'll be off. Arthur's gonna be so flustered!”  


“Arthur's not around.”  


“What?”  


“So he's gone see that Mary-girl?” Charles appeared behind you, his arms crossed.  


“Yes. Told him he shouldn't”, Hosea sighed, his lips a thin line of discontent. “Boy got that letter and rode there, probably as fast as the wind.”  


“For Mary?” Sighing you sat down. You had never met her but you had heard stories of her from Karen and Mary-Beth. Of course, girls gossiping should never be taken without some healthy common sense, but what you'd heard had been everything but positive. That girl had taken Arthurs' heart and crushed it by leaving him for basically who he was. Because her father thought of the outlaw as unfitting. Admittedly you could understand that man, but then again Marys' father had always been abusive and a major nuisance – at least that was what the girls had told you. “Why didn't anybody, like, stop him?”  


“Can you stop a longin' heart, Y/N?”, Hosea wondered.  


“Yes.”  


Both men stared at you for that cold answer. Yes, honesty sometimes wasn't pretty. But had you been there, Arthur wouldn't have left the camp. At least not without you and you would've put that Mary-woman in her place. Causing Arthur to run whenever she called for him. Pathetic. It seemed you had to have a word with him as soon as he would return from that little trip of his.  


“Y/N, please don't mess with Arthur on that”, Hosea slowly said, his fingers gliding over the cutlery which still was laying on the table, reflecting the morning sun. “This love's desperate.”  


“Hosea's right. It's none of our business”, Charles chimed in.  


“But how can you watch him suffering 'cause of that?”  


“We have to. We're family, no judges. We can only offer him comfort.”  


With a bitter sigh you stood up, gathering the silverware and putting it back into your pockets. Of course you understood what Hoseas' point was, but then again the gang had to put up with Arthurs' mood, not Mary. You had already seen Arthur heartbroken by Mary once in your life and it hadn't been fun. Not at all.  


You couldn't help but glance at Charles, who just watched you silently. You could feel your lips prickle like they did after an exceptionally passionate kiss with him. Without saying another word you left to contribute the share of your bait to the group and get the silverware to Miss Grimshaw.  


While searching for the woman who practically ran this place you thought about this truly depressing turn of events. You hated seeing Arthur sad, though he never really truly seemed to be happy. Wondering what may was missing in his life to make him smile more often – and you refused to think it might be love, because you knew one could be perfectly fine without, too – you decided to, if given the opportunity, put that Mary into her place. Maybe the last few weeks had been a bit much for all of you, the distress, losing friends, gathering mighty enemies like one would collect pretty shells on the shore. These things finally would take their toll, so much you knew.  


“Ah, so there ya are.”  


“Oh, hey Miss Grimshaw.” No need to search for her more. You smiled at the woman who probably had never done so in her life. Before she could go on scolding you or asking you to help her with some stuff, you led her to Pearsons' place where the cooking was done. “I got you somethin' nice. Ya'll like it.” You grabbed the cutlery out of your pockets and put it into the bowl which was used to wash dishes. “Finest silverware, nothing fake.”  


“And how comes ya think I'll like that?” She glared at you, annoyed at least. But the lack of cusses and screaming had you knowing that she, indeed, liked it.  


“But Miss Grimshaw!”, you called out full of fake drama, ripping open your coat for you were sweating a bit. “How, ya ask? How would I know what a queen like you likes, ya wonder? For I seen it in yer eyes, the graceful reflection of freshly cleaned knives, the way ya hold your spoon-”  


“Y/N!” Behind her fury there was somewhere a smirk.  


“Makes me want to give you more shiny stuff”, you finished, wheezing with laughters.  


“You think you're funny?”, Miss Grimshaw hissed, trying to stare you into shame. But you couldn't help yourself but giggle uncontrollably, almost gasping for air. Seeing you losing it, the woman at your side finally allowed a small chuckle. “How comes we think you're funny? Terrible prose. A shame.”  


“I knew you'd like it”, you managed to grin, wiped away the tears you'd laughed and took a few deep breaths to calm down again.  


“Yes, yes. Thanks, brat. Now go make ya useful.” She shooed you away and started cleaning her new silverware with uttermost care.  


And so you did. As soon as you'd put some money into the box dedicated to the camp and put off the coat you fed the horses and chopped some wood. Working like that helped you clear your mind and to stay in shape, of course. And it was the perfect charade – evading Charles a bit so nobody would even suspect something was different now.  


Still you caught the smirk and the hungry glances he shot you from across the camp.  
Damn, you tought, how he managed to make you feel these things in your stomach and below and above and everywhere without even saying a thing or touching you. Luckily you could blame your red face on the work and the sun shining down on you. 

“Don't overdo yourself, brat”, somebody snickered behind you, a voice you knew and loathed. “Though it's a nice backside yer showin'.”  


“Go search for somethin' you're useful at”, you growled, turning around to face Micah. That man was a pest, always chasing the girls and picking on minorities like Charles or Lenny or Javier. Most of the time he was just trying to really annoy everybody in camp except for Dutch. Well, you were easily irritated since you blamed him for that huge mess in Blackwater and he had insisted that he could not have known that this ship full of rich people and gamblers would be guarded. Oh no, who could have thought about that? How in the world would anybody want to guard a ship like that? Where there's money on it? You'd almost gotten yourself into a fight with him back in Colter and unfortunately Hosea had held you back. How you wished to demolish this ugly, deceitful face of Micah.  


“Ah, I'm just very content watchin' you.” He leaned against the tree next to you, crossed his arms and kept on staring at you.  


If it hadn't been for the laws within this camp, this face would be no longer. You decided to ignore him this time and went on chopping wood – there wasn't much left now so you could go on do other things soon.  


“Why the sour face, Y/N? Ain't ya happy to see me again? Almost missed ya last night. Heard you been with our mixed man.” You heard him light a cigarette and wished for a whole package of dynamite to shove it down his throat. Gritting your teeth you almost shattered that poor wood in front of you with one single hit. “Just lemme say, brat, you'd enjoy me just more than our black redskin.”  


You put the axe down, turning to face Micah, who smirked at you. Dangerously so. His blondish hair covered his eyes so you had to focus to see what they were like. Venomus, like always.  


“Micah”, you started, voice as calm as possible. Which meant you were roaring at him right now. “You get the fuck outta my sight or I swear to all that's holy I'll hack off your ugly face once 'n for all! You sick, racist fuck! GET OUTTA MY FACE!”  


Probably you should not always let out your anger like that. But he had insulted Charles in a way that was racist and was against everything you stood for in your own poorly led life. Unfortunately almost all conversations with Micah ended that way, because that man surely had a problem with leading a decent life.  
Somewhere from across the camp you could hear Javier laugh. “So Y/N's back, huh.”


	6. Old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going shopping has never been so hard as today. Sometimes you can't run or hide from your past. Especially if it is searching for you.

A bit more than a week later you were in town, not intending to scam people but if an opportunity turned up – who were you to deny it? Up to now you had bought a new toothbrush, soap and new boots for you. And because you couldn't help yourself you had bought some treats for Troja and Taima. Charles never wanted anything from town, he had everything he needed. No matter how often you asked him. So you decided to instead please Taima with something good.  


These last days had been strange enough. You had both sought and avoided Charles. For whatever reason you didn't want the others in camp to know you were sweet on each other. It would only end in teasing and side glances. And you just had not the strength to bear with that now. Charles may had – you knew he did. His whole character was built around the knowledge that he was only doing what he deemed good or worth of his time. That man knew about _his_ worth and he would not be bothered by anybody teasing him for being affectionate to you. You knew he wouldn't mind you sitting closely by his side, or you holding his hand by the campfire, or you stealing small kisses from him in camp. Things you longed to do. The only time you had allowed yourself to get lost in a dreamy kiss with him had been two days ago, while he had been on watch and you had offered to get him some food. You were sick of these excuses. But would you be able to stand the teasing, especially from Micah? Maybe you would murder him – which really wasn't something with a downside.  


Sure, then you probably would have to face consequences. But who would blame you? Really, nobody liked Micah, except Dutch. But that man alone couldn't order you to be killed. You were quite sure Charles would defend you, as would Arthur and Susan Grimshaw. Hell, even Kieran – still tied to the tree, but whatever – wouldn't want you dead.  


Your thoughts traced back to Charles, that kiss under the nightsky and _the other kiss_ which still took your breath only thinking about it. The safety of Charles' body, his strong arms holding you. His hair which smelled like a forest filled with herbs. The way his lips worked on yours and your neck. _You_ were definitely sweet on him. 

Sunken in your thoughts, you at first didn't hear the man call your name. Until, that is, he shouted it, getting your attention.  


“Y/N!”  


You turned – just to feel all your blood centring in your stomach and not in a good way. That face. That voice. Your eyes betrayed you, that was the only explanation. Mouth agape, you stared at the man approaching you. His once kind face had taken grim features. You were most likely the cause for them. You had hoped to never see him again.  


“What a nice coincidence to meet ya here, Y/N. And yer so alone.” Now he stood close enough to just shoot your face off if he wished to do so.  


Your armpits were terribly wet, you noticed. And the heat wasn't the cause of that. What to say? How to react? You weren't really prepared for a gunfight. Of course you were armed. But you liked to know about a fight beforehand. The only chance you saw was to act casual.  


“Calvin, didn't expect you here”, you said, surprisingly cool.  


“I think that may be, 'cause you didn't expect me to be anywhere, Y/N.”  


“Should've stayed there, don't ya think?”  


Though you still were amazed he had made it out alive of that mess a few years ago, you couldn't really blame him for being mad at you.  


You hadn't been with the van der Linde gang at that time, travelling with a more rough group of younger men and women. They had been the real bad guys, killing for a sport, robbing coaches and homesteads almost every day. Truth be told, back then you had been too afraid to just leave – because, well, they would have shot you, obviously. Would have hunted you down, for a sport. Luckily the locals and their lawmen got so angry and pissed that they had set up a trap; to your shame, you had helped them with that. Treachery wasn't really a noble thing to do. But in this case, well, it had been kind of necessary as to not kill, like, everybody in town over time.  
If you recalled it right, Calvin's last words first had been something like: “Y/N, get outta here! It's a trap!” But, after he'd learned that you, in fact, would not get hurt because you were one of the reasons for the trap, his words had changed to the likes of: “I will kill you!”  


And now he strolled beside you, in Valentine. A very, very alone you. Very unprepared. Sweating and wondering if it was okay to shoot him down. Was that still considered lying low? Would he scold you? For self-defence?  
You didn't believe in sudden absolution – not from Calvin.  


“Always had a big mouth, didn't change at all”, he almost spat. His hand was casually hovering over his revolver. You suppressed to mention it or even sigh.  


Instead you heard yourself say: “Always in a bad mood. Haven't changed at all.” Well enough to get that anger burning, you assumed.  


“Yer a snitch, Y/N.”  


“And you were brutal and downright depraved. Served ya well.” You stopped and turned to face Calvin, his icy eyes following your every movement. “I only did what was necessary. You know that. I know that.”  


“I promised something.”  


“So no coincidence seein' me here.”  


“I searched the whole west for ya. And now I gotta find ya in this shithole Valentine. That's a lucky coincidence – almost gave up on that.”  


“Terrific. Now, if you excuse me, I have to get these groceries back home.” Briskly you went backwards, still not daring to leave him unsupervised by you. Least thing you wanted to get was a bullet hole in your back. Because Calvin was a man of no honour, he would shoot whenever it suited him best. Fairness never really had interested him.  


“That can wait. We got some unattended business here. You just stay there, Y/N, or the last thing that old hag behind ya sees will be her ugly friend”, Calvin hissed, his hand now grabbing his revolver.  
He was a fast shoot, you knew that all too well.  


But you were a con-artist. You always found your way out of such situations. This wasn't your first rodeo.  


“If you start a shootout here, you won't survive it”, you simply said.  


“Oh, but you won't either.”  


“Is it really worth it? Like, you wouldn't even live to see me dying.”  


“You can try as much as you want, I'll get my revenge.”  


Just as you thought, Calvin wouldn't give in. And why should he? His hatred obviously burned brighter than the sun in Texas and if it meant to die to get you shattered, he'd do it. One could say whatever they wanted, Calvin was passionate. And persistent. Much to your discontent.  


The sturdy man didn't waste any more time.  
Neither did you. No words could change the situation. With a scream you jumped onto the old woman behind you, tackling her to the ground – above your head a bullet cut the air. Your ears tingled by the loud bang so close to you. You jumped up, grabbed your revolver and fired a few shots into Calvin's general direction, hoping of not hitting any bystanders. Around you the people screamed out, causing a general ruckus.  


“You can't get away this time, Y/N!”  


“Yeah, watch me, jerk!” You sprinted behind some massive barrels to get some cover. Taking a quick glance, you could see him walk over to the old woman who still lay in the dust, her heavy breathing was clearly audible.  


“You want this hag to die?”  


“Leave the woman alone!”  


“Come out, then.”  


“This has nothing to do with her, leave the woman. Fight like a man, not like a baby!”  


“So you won't come out?”  


The lady coughed agonized. “You … you leave-”  
The shot echoed through the street, followed by deadly silence. You squinted your eyes, taking a deep breath. You were in deep trouble. How you wished for someone from the gang to help you here. But you were alone.  
Again you glanced over the barrels, just to find Calvin standing at the side of the corpse. Blood covered the ground underneath her. You fired another warning shot.  


“Get lost, Calvin. I ain't in a mood to kill.”  


“Oh, but I am. Been wanting to do that long enough.”  


“I wouldn't recommend that.”  


Both your heads turned towards the deep voice chiming in. Stretching your neck, you still couldn't see much but Calvin's face redden, his hand holding his revolver twitching.  
Hearing this voice made you tremble. Why was he here? Never did he go to town? Why the hell today? Worst timing, really. Your heart pounded hard in your chest.  


“And what sorry excuse of human bein' are ya? A redskin nigger?”  


The next second a deafening shot ripped the air and to your pure delight you saw Calvin staggering backwards – his face fully blown off. A gross sight, just fitting his personality. 

You didn't hesitate no more, clumsily you jumped over the barrels, ran out onto the street – and found Charles standing there. Of course. He was wearing his better shirt and trousers, the gun in his hand still emitted smoke.  
The look he gave you was worth more than a hundred questions.  


“Charles!”  


You flew into his arms like a little bird, clinging to him, soaking in his comfort.  


“Who was that?” He held you with one arm while he put away his gun. Then he lifted your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him. “A bounty hunter? Hitman?”  


“A former friend”, you evaded.  


“That's how friends greet you? They shoot at you?”  


“Not all of them.” If it weren't for the situation, you would have giggled.  


Just then the sheriff came running onto the street, taking in the bloody mess there was.  


“This man saved me”, you quickly said, stepping away from Charles, immediately wanting to get back into his arms. “I was attacked by that guy. He shot the lady to get me out of-”  


“I've seen it, don't worry”, the sheriff cut in, lighting a cigarette. “Just sorry ol' Mrs. Trusle had to die.”  


“Then why didn't you...step in?” Did you just hear what you thought you heard? The sheriff had seen everything but hadn't felt the need to stop this man from murdering old Mrs. Trusle? What kind of sheriff was that?  


“Thought he might not shoot her.” He smoked on, then turned to face Charles. “Anyway, thank you for putting that one down.”  


“Sure.” Frowning Charles led you away from the sheriff, who went back to organize things, like who would dispose of the corpses.  


Side by side you went down the streets towards the stables, with you avoiding his curious glance.  


“You look distressed.” Finally Charles turned to face you, his hand searching for yours to hold. You didn't evade that gesture, rather welcomed the affection. “And you should take a bath, Y/N.”  


“W-what?!”  


“You smell like fear.”  


“And I thought it couldn't get any worse...”  
Head hanging low, you allowed Charles to lead you to the hotel, where you could take a hot bath, get cleaned and relax a bit.


End file.
